I can feel it in the very air I breathe.
I can see it in the blackest night.
I can touch its coldness shrouding me in silk.
I can hear its suggestive words, constantly whispering.
I can taste its need to feed on my fear.
I can and will ignore this monster.
After all,
Its just my reflection.

I wish I could see the beauty in the world
one, that is clearly dreary, cynical and cold.
This old planet, home to millions of species
and billions of humans, hanging in orbit,
turning, turning, forever turning.
I want to see the romance of the stars,
without knowing they're dead cold and lifeless.
I want to hear music in the crashing waves,
without knowing the seas are rising, and species are dying.
I want to touch the earth and feel its life beating in sync with mine.
I want everyone to taste clean water, hot food and freedom.
But, I know that this show called life is full of spite,
there's no *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Just a huge arch of colours in the sky caused by water droplets.
There's no lollipop or band aid big enough for this broken earth's pain.
Lollipops and rainbows only equal tornadoes, and rain.

Over the miles
somewhere beyond my reach
distress calls go unattended
my heart goes pale blue
yet I bleed red

someone dear
too far yet near
stands in the eye
of crisis unreachable
I can do nothing
feeling miserable
and only pray
my heart goes pale blue
yet I bleed red

falling bombs ,
propaganda charms
run amok in my chaotic mind
direction , unable to find
philosophers of love
assassinated by
priests of hate
my heart goes blue
Yet I bleed red.

Now here
I bring smile to a beggar
yet bitter residues burn
Patted once
betrayed beyond twice thrice
infinite
indefinite serpents caress
the numb body swollen mind
dissatisfied, idealism washes the stains
as I begin to walk away
having nothing to say
My heart still goes blue
My minds gone cuckoo
yet I still bleed red

Stressed and depressed
Too sad to rest
The only way to rid the pain
Is to cut my skin
And let blood trickle like rain

Your trembling hands
are steady for me

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f